The Fate of the Needle
by poeticmaiden
Summary: Watson has had enough, and Holmes is foolish enough to leave his desk drawer open. Now a drabble series.
1. Vengeance

_**This is a drabble that sprang into my head after watching one of the Granada episodes with Jeremy Brett and David Burke. I may expand on it later, but for the moment it fits nicely into 100 words. This is my first drabble ever, so I would appreciate any pointers you can think of! Please note that all this belongs to Conan Doyle, and not to me (even though I wish it did). **_

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The desk drawer lay open, forgotten by Holmes in his haste. Watson could hear his rapid footsteps as he flew down the seventeen stairs, his boredom swallowed up by the passionate energy with which he attacked this new case.

Watson, however, could not forget the way that Holmes had been stretched out in his armchair just a few minutes before, that silly, drug-induced smile drifting over his face. Even now, the hypodermic needle glared at him from the drawer, defying all his cares for his friend.

Watson threw the needle to the floor and ground it beneath his avenging heel.


	2. Obliteration

**Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! As you can see, I have decided to expand this into a drabble series. But I'm still entertaining the idea of fleshing it out into a more descriptive tale. If you have an opinion on whether or not I should, please tell me!**

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When one has lived for several years with Sherlock Holmes, one learns a lot about being a criminal. Watson got down on his knees to make sure he had extracted every shard of glass from the carpet, and the part of the needle that had escaped being ground into powder he deposited safely in the gutter.

But of course, Holmes would find out anyway. Watson sat uneasily in his chair, pretending to read, waiting for Holmes to return.

Holmes stormed in like a thunderhead, slamming the desk drawer closed without a second glance at it. Watson surreptitiously sighed in relief.


	3. Suspicion

**Thank you all for your kind reviews! I've decided that I will continue it as a drabble series for now, and maybe after I've finished it I'll go back and expand it. Writing these tiny little chapters has just been too much fun!**

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The next morning as Watson seated himself at breakfast, he saw something in Holmes's eye that revived the fears he had harbored last night. He tried to placate that accusing smile on his friend's face.

"Solved the case yet?" he asked as he cut his sausage.

"Yes," Holmes said airily. "Forgive my moody entrance last night. I was too wrapped up in a recent disappointment to be fully aware of my surroundings."

He stressed the word 'surroundings.' Watson suppressed the sigh of dread that rose to his throat.

"I did not notice."

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "No, Watson. You noticed."


	4. Confrontation

Watson raised his eyebrow in return, hoping it looked convincing. "What do you mean?"

The accusing smile took on more of an edge. "My dear Watson, when I see you secretly watching my every move while pretending to read a novel, all with a guilty look on your face, I know that something is amiss. And when I find something of mine missing this morning...." He gestured with his hand, leaving Watson to fill in the blank.

Watson swallowed. "Are you suggesting I am responsible?"

Holmes' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Out with it, Watson. Where have you hidden my hypodermic needle?"


	5. Resistance

Even as he felt his heart sinking within him, a wave of resolve rose inside his soul. Why was he the one dodging the truth? He had nothing to hide. He had acted justly, out of concern for his friend — not for some selfish motive.

"I didn't hide it, Holmes," he said firmly. "I destroyed it."

Holmes' eyebrows leaped in alarm, and immediately bent into a glare. "Oh, did you?"

"Holmes, this can't go on any longer. You return to that vile drug as soon as your brain is unoccupied. I've had enough. I can't let you destroy yourself."


	6. Loyalty

**Sorry it has taken me so long to update this! I'm afraid I got rather distracted with my other fanfiction stories. **

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Holmes set down his fork very, very slowly, making sure it was perfectly aligned with the napkin before he spoke.

"It is my choice to keep it. My own, personal choice."

"No, Holmes."

He looked up, startled.

"You can no longer simply lay it down whenever you wish. I've seen your increase in usage. You're addicted to it, Holmes."

A dark look came over his face. "So what if I am? What is it to you?"

Watson held firm. "If I fell into the Thames, you wouldn't let me drown. I'd be a wretch if I did less for you."


	7. Futility

Sherlock Holmes had no answer to that, and the lack of reply hung in the air, not just for the rest of the meal, but for the next two days. Watson could have counted the words spoken between them on one hand.

On the second morning, Holmes went out briefly and returned with a small package in his hand. Watson did not have to be told what was in it.

The morning of day three found Watson with his head in his hands after a sleepless night, torturing thoughts refusing to dissolve in the daylight.

His demonstration had done nothing.


End file.
